


The Glassbent Grove

by fishsoo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Homestuck - Freeform, and mindfang is a old lady ghost, glassbent, marquise spinneret mindfang - Freeform, over in here summoner is a grove spirit, sadstuck maybe, the summoner(homestuck), toastystuck challenge, tumblr stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishsoo/pseuds/fishsoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the depths of my memory, I remember plains and fields of shimmering spikes. They span far and wide, extending beyond the grey horizon, growing from charred earth layered with permafrost. Under the sunny sky, they are a sanguine blue reaching for the heavens, like happy, dreaming children, devoid of all worry.</p><p>Yet, they glint as though they are weeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glassbent Grove

_In the depths of my memory, I remember plains and fields of shimmering spikes. They span far and wide, extending beyond the grey horizon, growing from charred earth layered with permafrost. Under the sunny sky, they are a sanguine blue reaching for the heavens, like happy, dreaming children, devoid of all worry._

_Yet, they glint as though they are weeping._

* * *

 

_-_

_  
_

1\. The Blue Forest

Rumour has it, that somewhere, deep in the heart of a lush, foggy wood, there exists a place of unfathomable beauty. People talk about it with reverence and fear, and call it The Blue Forest, for the blue light that seems to emanate from the belly of the grove. Such beauty it was, that should an writer see it, he would cease to write coherently; that should an artist set eyes upon it, he would cease to paint with clarity; that should a traveller seek respite under the boughs of its trees, he will never desire to leave. Some say it’s a paradise teeming with the purest form of life, a spiritual haven. Others call it a faerie, a melting pot for all mythical creatures. And there are those who say it is a gathering of the dead and the living and the conniving, territory that one should never set foot in, for fear of entrapping himself in the shadows of eternal despair.

And, indeed, many who went never made it back.

Yet, even so, there are still those who choose to traverse the misty plains, with their backpacks and books and praying things, if only to reach the Forest trapped in Time.

* * *

-

 

2\. The Grove Spirit

People all say that there is a Spirit caged inside the glowing forest. He is a sad Spirit, who sometimes can be heard wailing softly amongst the muttering of the leaves. They think that he was sad for the pitiful beings wandering the Earth, never to find his paradise. They call him Lin’Ling, the Grove Spirit, after his native tongue. Time and again, they put up signs and maps to guide the lost to this blue haven, but they always find the signs overeaten by vines and grasses and new, baby trees. They never understood why.

Yet, as they stand in their stupour, an old lady laughs and pities them.

* * *

-

 

3\. The Song of Woe

_Once, before, I sang…  
_

_To a woman… The Song of Woe…_

_All I remember… The Song of Woe…_

**_She died, by her singer’s_   _hands._**

-

Trees often contained the souls of the lost. Without their memory to guide them, they cannot wander, they cannot go home. They know not what business left them chained to the earthen world, but desperate they are, for their salvation. Their fingers become the tree branches, the tips of them leaves, to sieve and catch the memories blowing in the air, in hopes of finding their own. 

Sometimes, when the wind blows, the leaves can sing, willowing softly the tales long forgotten, hoping that someone can find them. So full of memories is a tree, that it cannot die. Only when its spirit has found its memories and returned all the rest, can a tree go to sleep with its resident.

That must be why the Forest is so sad. Blue is a sad colour. Lin’Ling is a sad ghost. And when the wind ripples through it, people cannot help but tear at its quiet. Even though it had been so long since the Blue Forest came to be, not one tree had died since.

* * *

-

 

4\. The Banyan Tree

_People think of this place as holy._

_I’ve seen them come, with their incense and oils and rosaries, to kneel at the roots of the Great Banyan Tree. Sheltered under its boughs, they bow their head in prayer, whispering to the frozen leaves, crying to the frosted trunk. I peer from inside the tree’s great body, and I pity them, pity myself. As they look up and meet the gaze that they cannot see, I want to wet those clouded eyes, to return what belonged to a lost and wandering shell. Yet as I search, I have not what they desire. I can only hope that my comrades can provide their respite and rest them._

_Sometimes, I receive an urge to escape my container, but I know I musn’t do so. To do so would mean the death of this Banyan Tree, my host, the heart of the forest, the central point for all the routes of energy that flow beneath the earth. By destroying this sacred tree, I would have destroyed this Blue Forest, the shelter I had worked so hard to build. I recall not why I did so, but I know it must be something important. Now I serve only to live out the purpose I have given myself- to return what belongs to others.  
_

_Even so, I long for the day I can remember. I wish dreadfully so, to remember my days before this blue period; to remember why I built this frozen wonderland, to remember the reason for my heartache. And at times, when a praying person rests his or her hands on the trunks of my tree, I place mine where theirs lie. I can feel their every vein and wrinkle, read their stories and woe; and as the smell of incense and scented oil meets my nose, I pray with them.  
_

* * *

_-  
_

_  
_

5\. The Old Lady

The townsfolk all tell her that Dreamcatchers only catch bad things. But to her, they only catch dreams.

She hangs many of those around her house, at the windows, on the doors, under her table, behind the benches, and plants many trees around her little cottage. She hangs them on her trees, too. And she checks them everyday- blows on the leaves of her trees, to hear their songs, and peers between the webs of the dreamcatchers- strokes their feathers, picks at their strings, puts them close to her ear to hear them sigh.

She knows what she wants to catch. She remembers- her life before she died, her life on the seas, her life as a warring warrior. She relives in them, her memory- and _him,_ oh poor, sad, lonely _him-_ the sorrowful Lin’Ling, the brave fairy-boy. When she dreams of their life together, she delivers it to him, like a soldier’s letter. She finds the dreamcatcher  that houses it, and cuts its strings, setting the dream free, letting the wind take it to him.

She regrets her age. When she was younger, she dreamt a lot, about her life with the brave soldier boy, but she only disregarded them. Now that she was old, she knew better, but she dreamt so little. In the 20 years that passed since her awareness, she only had his Song of Woe to give back to him. It was a horribly sad memory. It was him, holding her, singing in his native tongue as she bled from the hole in her chest.

Just then, a frenzied scuttling noise sounded on her windows- the tree branches were banging violently on her rattling glass. She got up, feebly, leaning heavily on her walking stick. A storm must be coming, for the skies were grey. But, suddenly, her dreamcatchers began to jingle and chime. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide.

_Could it be…_

* * *

-

 

6\. The Wind’s Presents

_The winds brought me something new today. As I awoke from my slumber, I could feel the tree branches swaying. I knew then that something must have changed. For in the last years, even as a strong wind tickled my cheeks and kissed my eyes, the tree remained unmoving._

_A myriad of sound greeted me heartily, and instantly I was swamped, with colour and noise that reminded me of lands far, far away. I smelt something mildly familiar- was it sea salt? A swaying sensation cradled me in the womb of the Banyan Tree, and slowly, as I remembered, I slowly began to laugh.  
_

_-_

Even as the storm swept at her hair and snatched at her skirts, she stood strong and rooted, staunch in the blowing sand. She had brought out all of her dreamcatchers, tying them to the crackling tree, its leaves dancing in rhythm with the jingling ornaments, singing in resonance with the crying wind. Fly! She commanded. Fly, fly to the heart of the Grove. It had taken the tree’s two centuries of existence to fill every single leaf blade up with The Summoner’s memories, 20 years for her dreamcatchers to recover the dreams of her youth. She could not believe that she could live to see this day, to see the day that her beloved could get his memories back. And as her tree began to die, and she gradually began to disintegrate and flake away, she started to weep in true happiness.

_When we woke once again, I was in her arms, breathing in her youth and beauty and love, in a shimmering blue forest amidst singing dreamcatchers._

* * *

_-_

_  
_

7\. The Glassbent Grove

_Legend has it; that there were, once, two powerful psychics. One was a Mind Reader on the run from a sinful Law, the other a Communer who raised an army of beasts. In a war against his oppressors, the Communer made a grave mistake, that which could only be resolved by killing the Mind Reader. As he loved the Mind Reader very much, it pained him so, but it was his destiny to kill and her destiny to die. After committing such an act, he was so devastated, that in his sorrow he raised a forest entirely encased in crystal and sealed himself in, to lie asleep for sixty years. Some say that the crystal is glass, for even under the Sun it melts not, like The Summoner’s undying love and sorrow even as the world went on. But others say that the crystal is ice, for it is cold and wet to the touch, like The Summoner’s tears as he wept for his love. But the Legends fortell that it was indeed glass, for The Summoner’s gifts of love were always made of glass- flawed yet pristine, brittle yet graceful, moldable, malleable, but never changing its properties. People know the woods now with many names- The Blue Forest, the Frozen Woods, the Forest trapped in Time. But the name that the Legend foretold, and the only one that the Old Lady acknowledged- The Glassbent Grove._

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the Toastystuck challenge on Tumblr. Go try it out, it's pretty fun. Check the tags too, there's some good stuff in there.
> 
> http://toastyhat.tumblr.com/post/95245230424/art-writing-au-challenge-event
> 
> ^Click that and have yourself some fun.


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